


my heart will barefaced lie

by carloabay



Category: Skulduggery Pleasant - Derek Landy
Genre: Concussions, Eventual Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mild Blood, Skulduggery Pleasant Fic Exchange 2020, The Dead Men (Skulduggery Pleasant)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27405562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carloabay/pseuds/carloabay
Summary: He’d always lied to himself about the kind of love he had for his friend.
Relationships: Dexter Vex & Valkyrie Cain, Saracen Rue & Anton Shudder, Saracen Rue/Dexter Vex
Comments: 6
Kudos: 14
Collections: Skulduggery Pleasant Fic Exchange 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swordfaery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordfaery/gifts).



Ireland's drizzle was never-ending, so it seemed. Cloaks of grey mist, miserable and fine, like wet gossamer. God knew they were all damn tired of the rain.

"My butt is wet," Saracen whispered, from somewhere beyond the foggy curtain dripping past Dexter's eyes. There was a _thud_ , and a disappointed whimper, and Dexter rolled his eyes.

"I think I speak for everyone when I say we didn't need to know," Ravel hissed, into Dexter's ear.

"Anton hit me," Saracen sniffed.

"And I'll do it again in a minute," Anton growled. "Keep your eyes open, and your mouth _shut_."

"They are open. There's nothing to see, except sheets and sheets of this _shitting rain_."

"Language," Ghastly said mildly. Saracen sniffed again.

The rain continued.

¶

There was water dripping from the soaked canvas of the shelter, and it had collected in a dip on the mud floor in the middle of the room. 

Dexter shivered on his bedroll, fumbling with numb fingers to get his dry shirt over his head.

Saracen was bundled in blankets in the corner, rocking back and forth like a penniless widow. A lock of wet hair was swinging limply into his eye.

Dexter finally defeated the shirt and cast Saracen an unsympathetic look.

"Don't look at me like that," Saracen sighed. "This country is ridiculous."

"I'm not looking at you like anything," Dexter said, standing and brushing dirt off his knees. "I just don't understand why you have to have all the blankets."

"Well, you're welcome to join me," Saracen snapped, flicking his hair away from his eye. Dexter managed admirably not to stumble in surprise as he tried to make it over to his bag, but it was a near thing.

And Saracen didn't notice the heat building on the back of Dexter's neck. Hopefully.

¶

"The point of armour," Saracen grunted, his palm slipping against Dexter's bloodied skin, "is that it stops weapons. You know, things that stab you and shoot you and kill you."

"Does sarcasm usually fix knife wounds?" Dexter managed, his throat tightening as another shot of pain lanced up his spine.

"I'm trying to save your life, you twat," Saracen growled. "The least you could do is stay quiet, for once." There was a tremor in his voice, and it sounded suspiciously like worry.

The sky was blue today, and there was an exquisite fog crossing through Dexter's ears, a sound like drifting off to sleep.

"Dex?"

But there was hard ground beneath his shoulders and Saracen' hands desperately trying to keep him from falling apart and a familiar voice that didn't, it didn't want him to give up. 

The earth was marvellously cold. And Saracen was one golden thread, tethering him somewhere that he didn't want to leave yet.

¶

"He won't wake up anytime soon, Saracen. You should get some rest."

"Big talk from you."

"You haven't slept in hours."

"Go away." There was the squeak of a boot against the ground, then the flap of canvas, and a sigh from somewhere to Dexter's left.

He stared at the inside of his eyelids. There was a dull throb in his diaphragm, an ache in his ribs, a pounding behind his brow.

"You're infuriating," he heard Saracen say, like some kind of invisible deity in the blackness. "You're not dead, I know you're not dead. You could just...you could just wake up." There was a thickness in Saracen's voice, a heaviness sat on Dexter's eyelashes. "I know you could just wake up, and...and laugh at everything, and call me an eejit eight times in ten minutes, and get on Skulduggery's nerves. You can do it, Dex. And I'm right here when you do, alright? Can you please just…" Saracen sniffed. "Can you wake up, please?"

_I can't_ , his body seemed to say. Like there was ice pooling along his spine, like all of his muscles had been cut.

Saracen slipped his hand into Dexter's and all of a sudden he couldn't breathe. One warm point in a cold day, and that was Saracen's skin against his palm.

His lips were numb, teeth frozen and delicate like snowflakes.

"Eejit," Dexter mumbled, heaving his eyelids open, and Saracen threw his head back and groaned. Blue circles around his eyes. Hair sticking to his forehead. Dexter tried to smile.

"You're _infuriating_ ," Saracen griped, and his eyes were shining suspiciously.

"I know," Dexter sighed, nestling his head into the pillow. The tent was calm and quiet, and all the ice was little more than water, now.

Saracen still hadn't let go of his hand.

¶

“Larrikin’s not come back yet,” Skulduggery said, feet thudding into the ground as he slid from his horse. Dexter chanced a look at Anton, exhausted and ashy and glaring at the medic trying to treat his burns.

“Me and Saracen will go,” Dexter said instantly, and everyone turned to look at him, including Saracen. “Won’t we?” Saracen looked like someone had slid a knife into his chest.

“Yes,” he managed finally, and even as Dexter turned away, Saracen’s eyes followed him. Ghastly shook his head, tipping water down his throat.

“It’s a death trap,” he said, hoarsely. Saracen flinched in the corner of Dexter’s eye.

“We can’t leave Larrikin-“

“I know,” Ghastly growled. “But we can’t lose you two, either.”

“There are no acceptable losses, Ghastly,” Dexter snapped, anger rising in his chest like a snake.

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’m going,” Dexter replied, letting his glare sweep over the others. Only Skulduggery held his gaze. It was like staring at a wall. Eventually, Saracen sighed.

“Alright, well, you’re not going alone. Not if I have anything to say about it.” Dexter looked at him, and there was something in Saracen’s knife-prick gaze that made his stomach turn over.

“Good,” Dexter managed, the word sticking to the inside of his throat. “We’ve got two spare horses, haven't we?”

“Vex,” Skulduggery said, as Dexter turned away. He looked over his shoulder.

“Yeah?” Skulduggery’s head moved ever so slightly.

“Stay alive, would you?”

“You got it, dead man.”

¶

“Dexter.”

“Yeah.” Saracen didn’t speak again, and Dexter looked up from the rip in his shirt that he was painstakingly sewing shut. “Yeah?” Saracen was staring at the ceiling, spread-eagled on his bed, absolutely still.

“Remember Tunisia?”

“Which time?”

“Oh, nineteenth century.”

“The fire? When we almost lost Larrikin?” Even now, the name was something of a pain in his own voice.

“I was knocked, remember? The ceiling beam. How did we get out?” Saracen asked, eyes tracing some invisible line in the ceiling. Dexter set his sewing down.

“I never told you?”

“No.”

¶

_Saracen ran for the door and wrenched it open. The hinges collapsed in a cloud of embers, and Dexter watched Saracen hesitate, turn back. Frustration built, and he waved through the smoke._

_“Go! Get out!”_

_“Where’s Larrikin?” Saracen roared back. Dexter bit his lip, readied himself, and jumped over a line of fire, the heat slashing vengefully at the soles of his shoes._

_“He took the back way!” There was a huge crunch, and Dexter threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the patches of burning ceiling falling down all around him. He bounced onto the floor, coughing up smoke and heat, and raised his head. The debris was piled high now, flames licking hungrily around it, and Saracen was just a shape in the hot murk. “Go!” Dexter screamed. There was no way out, and terror clawed its way into his voice._

_“Not without you!”_

_“Go!” Dexter roared again, and then the smoke billowed and Saracen was lost from sight. His eyes were streaming, throat raw with fumes. Dexter got to his feet, alone, and not ready to die like this. If he’d had his own way, he’d die fighting, surrounded by his people, not drowned in heat and fear._

_A dark shadow split the flames and then a very solid body slammed into Dexter, taking him down to the floor once again. He hit out, viciously, but the body rolled away and Saracen staggered upright dizzily, sweating and soot-smeared._

_“Saracen,” Dexter said, and that was all he could manage. “You-“_

_“Eejit, I know,” Saracen said. There was a fierce gleam in his eye, and it wasn’t from the fire. “I couldn’t leave, Dex.”_

_“You’re not dying here,” Dexter said, and he grabbed Saracen’s arm, clung to him with all the desperation of a drowning man. “Not with me. God, you won’t ever die if I can help it.” He raised a clumsy hand, smearing soot across Saracen’s chin with his thumb, and he stumbled into him and kissed him hard. Saracen tasted like smoke, blood on his tongue. This was stupid, kissing in a death zone, and it made his heart swell and Saracen pushed his fingers through Dexter’s hair and kissed him back. They parted, only slightly, and the bitter smoke billowed between them. His heart was racing a mile a minute. “Not if I can help it,” Dexter said weakly._

_**Crack**._

_Saracen lunged and shoved Dexter sideways, and the last thing Dexter saw before he hit the ground was a huge wooden beam, slamming into Saracen’s head and taking him down._

_Dexter scrambled onto all fours, blindly charging on hands and feet, and he reached the beam and Saracen and gripped his shoulder, desperately searching for a way to get him out. The beam had fallen across his shoulder, pinning him to the ground, and Saracen was unconscious, ash-faced beneath all the soot._

_Dexter braced his hip against the beam and heaved, creaking the charred wood, but it stayed solidly put._

_“Saracen!” he cried, helplessly. Saracen didn’t move. Dexter charged up his energy and shot a stream at the beam. It crackled, hissed, and snapped, splinters flying everywhere, and then finally, it broke in half._

_He didn’t know how he managed to get to the door, burnt and aching and draping a terrifyingly deadweight Saracen over his shoulder. But he got there, and when he did, his soles were sticky and his eyes were thick with smoke and tears, Saracen’s blood on Dexter’s lips._

¶

“That’s it?”

“I carried you out. That’s it.”

“Oh, come on,” Saracen replied, sitting up. The back of his head was tousled. Dexter stared down at his sewing, heat rushing to his cheeks. “There’s more to it than that. What aren’t you telling me?” Dexter looked back up, searching Saracen’s eye for a hint of mockery, but it was clear.

“You really don’t remember?” he asked softly.

“How could I?” Saracen was attentive now, straight-spined, narrowed eyes. “You’ve never told me.” Never. It had been so long ago. Dexter shoved his sewing off his lap and stood.

"Saracen, if you're bullshitting-"

"I swear," Saracen said, shaking his head back and forth, palms up. "I swear I'm not. I just want to know, Dex." Dexter chewed on the inside of his cheek for a second, searching Saracen's eyes. Misted with confusion. Dexter crossed the room and sank into the bed beside Saracen, the mattress dipping, the planks groaning indignantly.

He'd been stalling for years. He’d been wondering for years. Saracen was still searching for something in Dexter’s eyes, like he was reading a book. Like Dexter was just a lump of leather and ink and thin sheets.

“You’re beautiful,” Dexter said, without meaning to, without thinking, because there was no thought present, it was just the rush of Saracen washing over his brain, his hair hanging into his face, and those eyes that Dexter had always managed to convince himself were just naturally enchanting. He’d always managed to lie to himself that he couldn’t ever build something out of the way he loved Saracen.

Saracen froze, and for one awful, sickening, world-lurching second, Dexter knew he’d done something wrong. And Saracen moved like the felling of a tree, forwards, right towards Dexter, and kissed him like that had been the damn plan all along, like they’d been rehearsing all their lines and their thoughts, like the almost-deaths and the fires and the gunshots had all been props, and Dexter’s mind was exploding in everything he’d thought wasn’t possible, which most of all, was Saracen’s warmth right up against him, Saracen’s palm on his chest and his fingers in his hair and his lips on Dexter’s.

“Did you know?” Dexter whispered against him, tipping their noses together, still trying to catch his breath. Saracen moved his head and kissed Dexter’s cheek, ever so gently.

“No. ‘Course I didn’t. Shut up and let me kiss you, eejit.” And he did.

¶

It was a blessed thing, waking up with Saracen’s arm wrapped around his hip and Saracen’s face squashed cartoonishly against Dexter’s shoulder.

“You want pancakes?” Dexter said aloud, more to himself than to Saracen.

“Yeah,” Saracen mumbled, squeezing his fingers around Dexter’s thigh. Dexter nodded.

“Well, you gotta let me get out of bed, eejit.”

“I love you,” Saracen sighed, sleepily, and Dexter grinned. The early morning sun was striped across the wall from the shadows of the blinds, warm and yawning.

“I’ll get you pancakes if you get off me.”

“I said I love you,” Saracen whined.

“Alright,” Dexter replied, pressing a kiss to Saracen’s cheekbone. “I love you, too.”

A bird shrieked quietly on the windowsill.

“Pancakes?” Dexter said after a second, and Saracen kicked the covers away and rolled off the side of the bed with a thud. He sat up, screwed his eyes shut, and smiled at Dexter with the sun in his eyes.

“Hell yeah, pancakes.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a bit o’ Val cus she’s cool

Valkyrie Cain was some kind of a girl. Dexter thought she was brilliant, all quick wit and narrowed eyes, and she fitted next to Skulduggery like none of the Dead Men ever had, aside from Ghastly.

On the downside, she had a penchant for being particularly cheeky to Saracen.

“You know what she said to me?” Saracen whispered, obviously outraged. Dexter squinted through the binoculars at the empty road.

“What did she say to you?” he asked in a monotone. The road remained empty. He shivered under Saracen’s coat.

“I mean, the _nerve_ of this kid,” Saracen hissed, and Dexter sighed and started to tune out.

¶

“Saracen’s got a bone to pick with you, I think,” Dexter warned the next time he saw Valkyrie, and she grinned at him like he’d just told her there was gold hidden under his bedroll.

“I’ll bet he’s got a bone to pick you with, too,” Valkyrie said, and before Dexter could figure out what that meant and then berate her for it, she was gone, and he was staring at an empty space with a stupidly half-shocked expression on his face.

“Ah, she got you, too, huh?” Saracen said, appearing at Dexter’s shoulder. He peered at him. “Why are you so red?” Dexter waved a hand at him. “Honestly, darling,” Saracen crooned, resting his chin on Dexter’s elbow. “You should know better than to try and hide things for me. How did that turn out last time?”

“Pretty well, right?” Dexter said. “I thought so, anyway.”

“Oh, you fancy yourself, do you?” Saracen scoffed. “Well, good. Because I do, too. Now come on, you have some attention to give me before we go trudging off across the continent again.” And he snatched at Dexter’s hand and pulled him away with the air of a stablehand leading a particularly fierce horse to the feeding trough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️


End file.
